Setting Sun
by Sansaery
Summary: "Do not burden yourself with worries, Mother; you know I shall come back, don't you? After all, I got both Fíli and Thorin with me! What could ever happen, when the three of us are together to look out for each other?" - Dís remembers the ones she has lost.


**Setting Sun**

The warmth of the sun offered no comfort today, least of all in the depths of the mountain.

Dís let out a small sigh as her fingertips brushed the smooth stone, occasionally encountering an engraved line, a carved rune, an imprint of the man beneath to remember him by; only a mother needed no tomb to recall the faces of the two sons she had brought forth.

_Fíli, my oldest; my sun._ Her boy with hair the colour of molten gold. They would remember him as a prince of Durin's house and Thorin's heir, but her mind would always reel back to the day she had first held him in her arms, no more than a squalling bundle with the tiniest arms and legs, her impeccable wee babe. Such weight had they burdened him with…always grooming, preparing, mentoring, training him to be the perfect model of a prince worthy of Durin's line – and he had never let them down, never; but the one promise Dís had ever asked of him, he hadn't been able to hold.

_The day will come when I shall see Erebor again; and when it does, I shall be greeted by my sons, standing alongside my brother, as befits his heirs, on the grand doorway steps. Promise me this, Fíli; promise me you will be there._

The memory nearly made her knees buckle with grief, but ere she could crumple like a withered flower, the Durin princess regained her composure. She set back her shoulders and straightened up, giving the tomb of her oldest son one last long, hard look before she moved on, her feet shuffling quietly on the marble floor.

She closed her eyes after she beheld the intricately carved plaque on the tombstone next to Fíli's; and for a moment her younger son's face came alive again, and it felt as if he was looking right back at her, the spark of mischief bright and vivid in his eyes.

Where Fíli was the sun, Kíli was the moon; always following in his brother's footsteps, whom he had revered and worshipped like no-one else. Her troublemaker, her little boy…he would _always_ be her little boy, the one she had failed to protect from his own immeasurable expectations.

_Do not burden yourself with worries, Mother; you know I shall come back, don't you? After all, I got both Fíli and Thorin with me! What could ever happen, when the three of us are together to look out for each other?_

"Oh, Kíli…" She wished she could tell him how much she craved for his forgiveness, for letting him down, for letting both of them go against her better judgement, but no sound would pass her lips. Her fingers trailed the lines of the face engraved on the tombstone, struggling desperately to trick her mind into believing it was real; it almost felt as smooth as young Kíli's cheek, but as soon as Dís opened her eyes, the vision faded and she found herself in a cold, blank grave once more, roughly and hastily hewn into the deep rocks of Erebor, to provide a proper tomb for the men who had laid down their lives to reclaim this forsaken place.

Suddenly, she wanted to run, to leave this dark hole in the ground behind, and never come back, for no memorial carved in stone would ever compare to the memories she carried with her, always, but there was one more tomb that awaited her.

Their home had been lost, their grandfather had eventually weathered like limestone removed from familiar surroundings and exposed to the ruthless force of nature, their father had gone mad with loss and grief and despair, they had buried both a brother and her husband, but the one who had always been there with her, as firm and enduring as a rock, was Thorin.

Only when she reached his tomb Dís realised that she was not alone anymore. Inaudibly, almost warily, he walked up to her, never taking his eyes off her. "'m sorry for yer loss," he finally mumbled, the first sound to break the eerie silence of the last resting place of Durin's heirs. She acknowledged both his presence and his condolences with a curt nod, her jaw tensing and her eyes meeting his with a hard, penetrating stare.

"So we meet again, Dwalin, son of Fundin," she greeted him quietly after a while, her gaze trailing over the inscription on her brother's tomb. _Now I've buried a husband, two sons, and two brothers._ "They say you carried him away from battle that day." Half-carried, half-dragged, they said; stirring her imagination more than she had wished, for she had not wanted to picture her brother's last moments like this, being hauled from the battlefield by one of his oldest and fiercest friends. They said the blood of his nephews mingled with his own had not even dried on his armour when he had drawn his last breath.

"Aye," he acquiesced, tilting his head a little and lowering his gaze. He did not want her to notice how her own sorrow was mirrored in his eyes. "And I've held him 'till it was over, 'till he was with 'em again." For a second, his eyes lingered on the two tombstones next to Thorin's before he finally found Dís' stare again, and now he allowed her to see it all; the anguish, the despair, the disbelief. Simultaneously, they reached out and took each other's hands.

"I thank you for that." Her voice sounded hoarse, thick even, and Dwalin knew this was as much grief as she would show to the world. Soon, she would gather herself again, and one after another, she would collect the pieces of her soul and heart and put them all together again. Time would make it easier for all of them, but it would be a difficult, stony road which they were about to take, and for none it was going to be more arduous than Dís.

"Come," he heard himself croak, and gently tugged on her hand. "Let's go outside. The sun is warm today." _No_, she thought, _they have buried my sun in rock and stone._ "Yes," she said, a crooked smile on her face that would not reach her eyes, "let's go."


End file.
